Читать книгу The Sweeping Saga Collection: Poppy’s Dilemma, The Dressmaker’s Daughter, The Factory Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 22

As soon as Tweedle Beak finished work on the day of his lottery draw, 28 September, he changed into his better outfit, reserved for drinking and womanising, and hurried to The Wheatsheaf. Final and important arrangements had to be made. The only patrons there at the time were four miners, blackened with coal dust, who were evidently on their way home from their pit. They paid little attention to Tweedle Beak as he strode up to the bar.

‘You’m early,’ Selina, the landlord’s daughter, commented.

‘I’ve come to see you, Selina,’ Tweedle replied and raised his eyebrows as if to suggest he was interested in her. ‘Before the others get here.’

Selina blushed at the implied flattery and became flustered. She was not used to the attention of navvies, except for one lad once when they first became a blight on the area; he’d had a bet with his mates as to who could suffer to seduce the ugliest wench in Dudley one Saturday night.

‘Can I pour you a drink?’ she asked.

‘A quart o’ your best, Selina,’ he said. ‘And have one yourself.’

‘That’s very kind, sir,’ she replied, unable to use his name because she was not sure of it. She picked up a pewter tankard and, while he watched, drew beer into it and placed it before him on the counter.

Tweedle handed her a sixpence. ‘No, you can keep the change,’ he said, amiably, when she offered him some coppers. ‘I wanted to ask you to do summat for me, young Selina, if you would.’

‘If I can, I’ll be happy to oblige.’

He felt in his trouser pocket and pulled out a half sovereign. ‘This is yourn, Selina, if you’ll do a little task for me, secret like. It’s just between you and me … Understand?’

‘I ain’t no blab-mouth,’ Selina said defensively, looking covetously at the half sovereign held between his fingers and noticing his grubby, broken nails. ‘I can keep a secret.’

‘That’s partitly what I wanted to hear …’ He grinned at her affably and his long nose drooped in consequence. ‘Later on, when the men have been paid, we’m having a lottery draw—’

‘Oh, I heard summat about it. One o’ the navvy wenches is being raffled off, in’t her?’

He nodded and grinned again, placed the coin on the counter tauntingly, then supped his beer. ‘Word gets around … Any road, this is where you can help, Selina. I want to call on you to come and draw the tickets out o’ the hat.’

‘Yes, all right,’ she willingly agreed. ‘I don’t mind.’

Looking around furtively, he felt in another pocket, showed her a piece of folded paper and leaned towards her. ‘This is the winning ticket. I want you to keep it safe till I ask you to come and do the draw. Then, you must have it hid in your hand, ready. When I ask you to dip your hand in the hat, I want you to pretend as you’ve just pulled out this very piece o’ paper. Understand?’

Selina nodded uncertainly. ‘So it’s a cheat. The draw is already fixed.’

‘Let’s say the winner has already been decided by other means. O’ course, the money’s all going to charity, you know. We just need to make the draw look real to them lads who’ve bought tickets who’m unsuitable and unworthy o’ the wench being raffled. You understand, eh? I mean you wouldn’t want to end up with any Tom, Dick or Harry, if it was yourself, would you?’

Confused, she said no and nodded. Once more she glanced at the half sovereign. She could buy loads with that; it was a handsome bribe. She hesitated a second. She could try her luck and stall for a whole pound … but then this man might withdraw the offer and ask somebody else. ‘All right,’ she said at last, and held her hand out for the lottery ticket.

‘But it’s just between you and me, Selina.’ He pressed the ticket into her hand but did not release it while he held eye contact with her.

‘It’s just between you and me,’ Selina agreed.

Tweedle Beak let go her hand. ‘Just be sure to come to me as soon as I call you.’

She took the half sovereign and he winked knowingly. ‘Have no fear … sir …’

He finished his beer and ordered another.

Legal wrangles continued over the implementation of Brunel’s broad gauge in preference to the more widely used narrow-gauge track. Coupled with inordinately slow progress, due to a string of inefficient contractors that had slowed down the job intolerably, it was decided that all work on the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton Railway was to be wound down and suspended by the end of next month. The friendly and helpful alliance with the Great Western Railway had proved to be neither friendly nor helpful after all. The encampment at Blowers Green would consequently disband, and the navvies who had lived and worked there for months, with a common purpose, would up sticks and set off on tramp to seek employment on other civil engineering projects. Men who had become firm friends, or even sworn enemies, would part company and possibly never meet again, for better or for worse.

The men were advised of this as they lined up to collect their pay. A letter was included in each pay packet, but since all but a couple could not read, it had to be explained to them by a representative of the company. Those who wanted to seek alternative employment could leave at once. Those who wished to stay would be kept on only until the end of October.

There had been rumours for ages that the company was in financial straits, but it all made little sense to the men. As far as they were concerned, the section from Worcester to Dudley was all but complete, save for a mile or two of cuttings and embankments, the laying of the track and the building of stations. Between Worcester and Oxford, however, it was a different story. The Mickleton tunnel, for instance, was nowhere near finished and Mr Brunel was said to be livid about the spiralling costs and his plummeting reputation.

The women that dwelt in the encampment were oblivious to the commercial turmoil that would affect all their lives. In anticipation of Tweedle Beak’s lottery, they had collected switches of gorse, which they had tied together and fastened to a broomstick for the ceremonial jumping over it later that evening. Another had made a chaplet of flowers for Poppy’s hair. They were excited, and took great trouble to tease Poppy whenever she appeared, particularly Ma Catchpole. She not only considered it a golden opportunity for Poppy, but declared it was about time the girl settled down with a man and had some babbies. Poppy, however, was not so enthusiastic.

Tweedle had collected forty-seven pounds in lottery contributions, a sum he had stored in a leather pouch in his locker in the main room of Rose Cottage. Dandy Punch had duly written the names of contenders on squares of white paper, which had all been neatly folded and which accompanied him to The Wheatsheaf for the draw that evening. Despite the news that all work was to be held in abeyance, Tweedle Beak was still hopeful that payday might induce a few others to speculate on the enticing possibility of winning an exceedingly bonny, industrious and highly desirable young bed partner. His hopes were well founded. Several men had been waiting for payday so that they could afford tickets, and he collected a further fifteen pounds. Dandy Punch wrote those names on tickets.

The atmosphere in The Wheatsheaf that evening was buzzing with a heady mixture of despair and anticipation. Some men were openly devastated that work was being shelved, others could not have cared less. Nonetheless, it was a major topic of discussion as they slaked their thirsts with excesses of foaming beer. The air of anticipation, however, was stirred by the impending lottery draw. The usual gathering sat in front of their tankards and speculated on the outcome, while Tweedle Beak excitedly pocketed his latest booty and Dandy Punch wrote out the final ticket, inscribing the words ‘Dog Meat’ upon it.

‘How many tickets hast thou bought, Dog Meat, me old mate?’ Buttercup asked, rubbing his fingers through his whiskers.

‘Just the one,’ Dog Meat replied. ‘Tipton Ted lent me the money after all.’

‘Aye, well, p’raps he wants to get shut of thee. Did you have any luck wheedling any more out of Jericho?’

Dog Meat shook his head. ‘No, and I wasn’t about to argue with him either. He gets nasty when he’s offended. I din’t fancy a broken mush.’

Buttercup looked at Jericho. ‘How many tickets has thou bought, Jericho?’

‘Enough to put me in the reckoning.’

‘Dandy Punch has bought ten, I hear.’ Buttercup turned to Tweedle Beak whose nose was in his tankard. ‘Is that right, Tweedle? Has Dandy Punch bought ten tickets?’

‘Ask Dandy Punch, why don’t you?’ Tweedle replied off-handedly. ‘It’s his business how many tickets he’s paid for. It ain’t for me to tell you his business.’

Buttercup looked at Tweedle with distrust. ‘I reckon we need a scrutineer to check the tickets in that hat o’ thine there. Seeing as how I got no interest in the matter, I reckon it should be me.’

‘Sod off, Buttercup,’ Tweedle Beak rasped, piqued as always by Buttercup’s goading. He took the floppy hat, which was occupying pride of place on his lap, and closed it up protectively. ‘There’s no need for e’er a scrutineer. This lottery’s being run fair and square.’

‘So how long have we gotta wait afore we know who’s won it?’

‘We’ll be doing the draw in ten minutes.’

‘And who’s gunna draw it?’

‘Selina, the gaffer’s daughter.’

‘I bet if you’d put Selina up as a prize, you wouldn’t have sold many tickets, eh, Tweedle?’ Jericho suggested.

Tweedle looked Jericho squarely in the eye. ‘Say what you like about Selina, she’s a decent wench.’

‘Tell me, Tweedle,’ Buttercup interjected. ‘How is this stopping o’ the work likely to affect thee? D’you intend to stop on through October, or bugger off early?’

‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Tweedle asked defensively.

‘I was just trying to be friendly. Either road, it’ll be a tidy tramp for Sheba and her kids, wherever you go, Tweedle.’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I’m just commenting, me old mate. You mustn’t forget as she’s a-carrying.’

‘It’s in the forefront o’ me mind, Buttercup.’

Jericho nudged Dandy Punch who was sitting on the stool next to Tweedle. ‘How many tickets have you bought for young Poppy, Dandy?’

‘None o’ your business, lad. Who says I’ve bought any?’

‘Buttercup reckons so. Any road, I’ve bought six. Tell me how many you’ve bought,’ he persisted.

‘All right … I bought six. Same as you. So me and you have got equal chances.’

‘Well, if I win I shall take her to live in Chippenham, now as the work here is shutting down. I shall go back to being a farm worker. I’ll rent a cottage and who knows, I might even have me own smallholding someday.’

‘Noble ambitions, Jericho. Who’d have thought it from you?’

‘And what about you, Dandy? What’ll you do if you win the wench?’

‘I’m assured of work with Treadwell’s, Jericho. Next job, wherever that might be, I shall rent a house. Me and Poppy will have a proper wedding and we’ll settle down and raise a family. I always wanted a family.’ He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the certain prospect. ‘I’ve got it all planned out.’

Their attention was drawn to Tweedle Beak, who was beckoning Selina.

‘Lads!’ he cried, and stood up. ‘Can I have your attention …?’

He looked about him at the unsightly collection of expectant faces. Selina meanwhile shuffled through the crush of navvies who were all intent on watching the proceedings. As she approached, she felt in the pocket of her apron for the ticket that was to win.

‘We’ve all had a month to ponder the prospect o’ winning the beautiful young Poppy Silk in this raffle,’ Tweedle Beak was saying, enjoying the moment. ‘Well, now’s the time to make the draw …’

Selina was standing close to Tweedle Beak now, but was still fumbling in her pocket, suddenly hot with panic. She pulled out a rag and pretended to wipe her nose with it while she felt about with her other hand. But the ticket had attached itself to the rag and fluttered to the floor at the feet of Buttercup, who leaned forward and picked it up. Tweedle Beak viciously tried to snatch it away, but Buttercup had it in his closed fist. He opened it.

‘Well, now … What’s this?’ he exclaimed to all, holding the ticket aloft. ‘Here, Dandy Punch …’ He showed Dandy the ticket, keeping Tweedle Beak at arm’s length. ‘What name does it say?’

Dandy adjusted his spectacles and peered through them. ‘It says “Tweedle Beak”.’

‘Is that so? Tweedle Beak, eh?’ He looked at Tweedle accusingly, then at Selina. ‘Was this a fix, Selina? Was thou supposed to pretend to pick this ticket out o’ the perishing hat?’

‘No … I never seed it afore.’

‘Fancy that … And yet I just watched it fall out o’ thy pocket. If thou never seed it afore, wench, how come it was in thy pocket? Well, let me hazard a guess … That weasel, Tweedle bloody Beak, gave it thee. Hear that, lads?’ All eyes were on Buttercup as he stood up and addressed the rest of the navvies. ‘Tweedle Beak has tried to fix this draw so as he wins young Poppy himself … And him already sleeping with the wench’s mother …’ Buttercup’s derision and loathing was amply manifest, not only in the way he prodded his forefinger at Tweedle, but in his scowl.

‘’Tis a lie,’ Tweedle protested. He glanced at Dandy Punch apprehensively. ‘I did no such thing. I wouldn’t … For the very reason Buttercup mentioned … Because o’ Sheba.’

‘It looks mighty suspicious to me, Tweedle,’ Dandy Punch said with bitter resentment, seeing his cherished plans doomed, but unable to further his complaint for fear of being perceived as the perpetrator of another fiddle, as yet uncovered.

‘Suspicious?’ Buttercup hissed. ‘I’ll say it’s bloody suspicious. Thou bist a shit heap, Tweedle bloody Beak.’

‘Aye, and more,’ Dandy Punch exclaimed, seizing the first chance to vent his anger and disappointment on Tweedle Beak. ‘You tried to fix this draw and run off with the daughter o’ the woman who’s already expecting your child? You’re worse than any shit heap. You’re lower than any slime that ever slopped about in a millpond.’

Buttercup then saw his opportunity to inflict the ultimate humiliation on Tweedle Beak and could not resist it. He took a deep breath and his chest swelled in anticipation. ‘Well, now,’ he said, addressing everybody. ‘I’ve got some information about the babby yon Sheba’s a-carrying … And I can tell ye all that it ain’t Tweedle Beak’s …’ A deathly hush fell among the men who had been jeering. ‘No, sir … It’s Lightning Jack’s child …’

There were cheers and guffaws from everybody. Tweedle Beak had gone suddenly pale. Never in his life had he looked such a fool. He had tried to cheat his fellow workers and had been exposed. He had tried to cheat Dandy Punch, who in turn had tried to cheat everybody else, and the plot had faltered due to Selina’s carelessness. Now he had been belittled beyond redemption. He was a laughing stock. Even if it was a lie about Lightning Jack being the father of Sheba’s child, he could never be sure and he would be forever taunted about it. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, to relieve him of his absolute embarrassment and shame. He saw only one possible way out …

He raised his hands, begging to be heard. ‘Lads, lads … All right, I admit I tried to fix this draw in me own favour, and it ain’t no fault o’ Selina’s. A good many of yer have paid good money for the chance to win Poppy, I realise that and I’m sorry. I reckon as we should mek the draw any road.’ He looked at Dandy Punch, seeking his acknowledgement of his desperate attempt to make amends. ‘So I’m asking Selina to mek the draw proper.’

‘Look in her hands fust to mek sure as her’s carrying ne’er another ticket,’ somebody yelled.

Selina, also acutely embarrassed at being seen as part of the treachery, held up her empty palms for all to see. Tweedle held up the hat and she thrust her hand into it, drawing out a white ticket. She opened it up slowly, fumbling a little in her nervousness. The men, especially Dandy and those others that had invested heavily, watched Selina with an angry intensity.

‘Whose ticket is it?’ Buttercup asked. ‘Thou canst read, eh?’

‘It says “Dog Meat”,’ Selina uttered quietly.

‘Dog Meat!’

The former enthusiasm, the avid interest, the intrigue was dead. Nobody cared about the draw after the sham of Tweedle Beak’s cheating. The lottery had lost its credibility. For all they knew, even the drawing of Dog Meat’s ticket could have been a fix. And so much hard-earned money invested as well.

‘You damned Judas!’ hissed Dandy Punch through the hubbub. He had been sitting next to Tweedle Beak. ‘I want my money back.’

Jericho overheard the comment. ‘Aye, and if he gets his money back, I want my money back as well.’

‘We all want our money back,’ several others shouted.

‘Nobody gets their money back,’ Tweedle scoffed. ‘The draw was made. As agreed.’

Buttercup had been studying Tweedle Beak and his reaction to the events and accusations. He regarded him through despising, narrowed eyes, with an increasing sense of satisfaction at having humiliated him. But still he felt like killing the blackguard. He lunged at him, fists flying. ‘Thou shit heap! Thou doesn’t deserve to lick the boots of Sheba and Poppy, nor Lightning Jack. Any road, what gives thee the right to have a lottery for a decent innocent like Poppy Silk? Thou bisn’t her father. Thou bisn’t anything, other than a great heap o’ shit. As far as I’m concerned thy lottery’s a sham, and I’ll kill thee.’ Buttercup was about to land a second punch when Jericho pulled him away.

‘He’s mine, Buttercup.’

‘Nay, lad. I’ve been itching to do this vile bastard some damage. Take your turn.’

‘But he took six quid off me. Six quid!’

Glasses, bottles and tankards began flying. Beer was swilling over tables, spilling onto the sawdust-sprinkled floor. Men struggled one with another as the fighting instantly spread. Tweedle Beak, free of Buttercup’s unwanted attention for a second, saw his chance to escape. He turned round to pick up his hat, which contained further evidence of bias in the number of tickets bearing the name of Dandy Punch.

The hat had gone.

So had Dandy Punch, though nobody made the connection, for Dandy was not thought likely to get mixed up in any fighting.

‘What are you looking for, Tweedle?’ Jericho screamed at Tweedle. ‘The hat with the tickets in? Just when I want to see if my tickets was ever put in there.’

‘They was in there,’ Tweedle tried to reassure him.

‘I’ve only got your word, and that don’t count for much any more. You’re a sly, sneaky bastard. Now, if you can’t show me me tickets, I want me money back.’

‘That you won’t have, Jericho.’

‘Then outside.’

‘Aye, I’ll go outside with yer, you cocky young bastard.’ Tweedle had got nothing more to lose. He had lost his credibility and what friends he’d had. He might regain some respect if he could beat Jericho in a fistfight. If he couldn’t, he might win some sympathy as the loser.

The room full of angry men became quiet as the dispute between Jericho and Tweedle Beak flared. Those closest stood back to let the two men pass, then they all finished what beer still remained in their tankards and followed them outside. At once, Selina and her father set about clearing up the debris.

Buttercup felt robbed that he was not about to get a crack at breaking Tweedle’s jaw, but he was sufficiently content to let the swine suffer at the hands of Jericho, since there was no doubting the outcome of that fight. A trickle of blood appeared from Tweedle’s mouth as they fought. Buttercup turned his back on the struggle. There was a more important task in hand.

As Buttercup reached the encampment, the women were standing in the centre, gossiping and laughing with expectation. When they saw him strutting towards them looking agitated they fell silent.

‘Who’s the lucky chap then?’ Ma Catchpole enquired. ‘We’n got the broomstick ready and Poppy’s all dressed up, a-waiting.’

‘Good,’ he said and walked past them.

The women looked from one to the other with puzzled expressions.

‘Is it you, Buttercup?’ one asked. ‘Shall you be jumping the broomstick wi’ young Poppy?’

‘Not me,’ he called, and went inside Rose Cottage, slamming the door behind him.

Sheba, Poppy, and the other children were all waiting apprehensively for the result of the draw. Poppy was in her best red flannel frock and the boots that Robert Crawford had bought her. She was pale and trembling as she looked anxiously at Buttercup.

‘What happened?’ Sheba asked.

‘I’ll tell thee in a minute. I want a crowbar.’

Buttercup entered the navvies’ sleeping quarters and came out bearing one. At once he strode over to the line of lockers.

‘Which is Tweedle’s?’

‘This one.’ Sheba pointed it out.

‘He tried to fix it so as he won,’ Buttercup informed them as he shoved the end of the crowbar between the door and its stout frame. ‘That means as he was planning to leave thee, Sheba.’

‘Does he know as it ain’t his child I’m a-carrying then?’ She showed little emotion.

‘He does now. But I reckon it meks no odds to him either way. The fact as thee bist a-carrying, whether or no ’tis his, meks no odds to him. He’s a bad un, Sheba. Yo’m well rid of the bastard.’

‘Does that mean as I ain’t got to jump the broomstick with anybody?’ Poppy asked.

‘When the lottery got drawn proper, Dog Meat’s name came out o’ the hat.’

‘Dog Meat!’ Poppy groaned. ‘I can’t stand him. Oh, tell me this is a vile nightmare I’m having.’

‘It’s a vile nightmare,’ Sheba agreed.

‘Fret thee not,’ Buttercup declared earnestly. ‘It was a fiddle from start to finish. Nobody’s having thee, Poppy. Not Dog Meat, nor Jericho, nor Dandy Punch. Least of all Tweedle bloody Beak. There’ll be nothing left of him any road once Jericho’s finished with him.’

‘Honest, Buttercup? You mean I’m free to do as I please?’

‘I’d never let anybody take thee as thou didn’t want, wench,’ he said resolutely. ‘Tweedle Beak had no right to do as he did. He wasn’t thy father. He was nothin’ to do with thee.’

‘But what about Dog Meat? He’ll come and claim me before long.’

‘Don’t worry about Dog Meat. I’ll sort him out.’ Buttercup had managed to break the lock and the door swung open. He reached inside and took the leather pouch that he knew contained most of the money Tweedle Beak had collected. He tossed it to Poppy. ‘Here … The money’s thine, Poppy.’

‘But that Tweedle Beak,’ Sheba said, the news impacting on her. ‘He was intending to run off with me own daughter and spared not a thought for me, or even the child I’m carrying.’

‘Aye, and he’s took money off a good many besides, knowing full well as he was gunna fix it for himself to win. But he was never clever enough to see it through proper. Well, he’ll be leaving tonight any road, if he can still stand. But not with his money.’ He turned to Poppy. ‘Take the money, my flower. Tomorrow, get theeself away from this camp and navvydom. There’s enough there to see thee through many a month. Even a twelvemonth. Tek theeself off and wait for that young engineer thou’st got thy eye on.’

Poppy looked enquiringly at Sheba, then at Buttercup. ‘If Tweedle Beak intended to cheat everybody, don’t you think we should give the money back to the men who’ve been cheated?’

Buttercup took his clay pipe out of the top pocket of his waistcoat and put it in his mouth. ‘If we could be sure who’s paid what,’ he said, taking a stick of twist tobacco from his pocket and cutting a piece off it. ‘Somebody else must’ve been in on it besides, ’cause the hat suddenly went missing with all the damned tickets. And if we ask who paid money, every bugger will say he paid for two tickets when he only bought one. Nay, wench, have the money thyself and let it do thee some good. Besides …’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Everybody’ll think as Tweedle himself has sloped off with it. When word gets round, he’ll not be able to find work navvying anywhere. But that’s his own saft fault.’

Poppy looked at her mother again. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mother. What should I do?’

‘Before your mother says anything, Poppy,’ Buttercup said, stuffing strands of tobacco into his gum-bucket, ‘you should both know that work on the railway is being stopped. Some of the men am leaving right away to find other work. Them who’m stopping have on’y got till the end of October. Then we’ll all be on tramp.’

‘All the more reason for the men to have their money,’ Poppy said. ‘And for me to come with you.’

Buttercup reached down to the fire with a spill, ignited it and lit his pipe with it. ‘Nay, don’t worry about thy mother, young Poppy.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sheba asked.

‘I’ll look after thee, Sheba … And thy brood.’ He sucked on his pipe and blew out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. ‘No strings attached, if that’s the way thou wouldst rather have it. On the other hand, I’d be honoured to be husband to thee, and father to thy nippers.’

Sheba and Poppy looked at each other and laughed with joy.

‘How did you know that’s exactly what she’d want?’ Poppy said, looking at her mother with love in her eyes.

‘I didn’t.’

‘I did. She never said a word, but I knew.’

‘I should just hate to see her go to waste, put in the workhouse and separated from her children. Besides, Lightning Jack would’ve wanted me to look after thee, Sheba. It’s what I want to do … if you’ll have me …’

Tears trembled on Sheba’s eyelashes and she wiped them with the backs of her hands. ‘You are the most … surprising man, Buttercup,’ Sheba said quietly, sincerely. ‘Oh, I’ve always had this admiration for you, from that first day I set eyes on you. I’ll not deny it. But I never thought … Oh, I’d be privileged to be your woman … Just as long as you can forgive me my dallying with Tweedle Beak.’

‘Don’t give it a thought,’ Buttercup said kindly. ‘’Tis a certain fact as you had no choice. You have a choice this time, though. Go with Poppy and live comfortable on Tweedle’s ill-gotten money, or settle with me and let Poppy follow her heart.’

‘What do you want to do, our Poppy?’

‘I love Robert Crawford, Mother,’ she said without hesitation. ‘I have to follow the path that might bring him and me together. Before tonight, I thought he was lost to me forever.’

‘Then that’s settled … Buttercup, you’ve got yourself a family.’

Buttercup beamed. ‘Capital! Just hang on here while I go and have a word with Dog Meat. Poppy, pass me a sovereign so’s I can give the poor bugger his stake back. He even borrowed it off Tipton Ted Catchpole.’

Outside the hut they heard the sound of raucous singing and shouting. Poppy went to the door and opened it. A crowd of navvies had gathered in the centre of the encampment, and the women who had been earlier hanging around had evidently joined them. Among them was Minnie. Poppy could see the tall, muscular frame of Jericho, unmistakable in the gloaming. Just then he looked up and saw Poppy silhouetted in the door frame by the feeble light of the oil lamp. He strode over to her intently.

‘Poppy, I could’ve killed the swine.’ Jericho’s eyes were ablaze with the after-effects of his fight. ‘To think as he could pull a trick like that to get his dirty maulers on you.’

‘I suppose you mean Tweedle Beak.’

‘Aye, Tweedle Beak. You’ll not see him again. Nor would you want to, I fancy. I paid six quid for lottery tickets to win you and the bastard tried to fix it so as he’d win himself. If Buttercup hadn’t noticed the rogue ticket lying on the floor …’

‘We heard,’ she answered. ‘Buttercup told us.’

‘Aye, well, I got my money back. I knocked it out of him. He’ll not pull a trick like that again.’

‘Where is he? Tweedle, I mean.’

‘Gone. He skulked off with a black eye and a fat lip.’

‘Gone already? Good … I’m glad …’

‘Poppy …’ His look was intent, hungry, and typical of the way he always was after a fight.

‘What?’

‘Fancy coming a walk with me? There’s things I want to say to you. Things I thought I’d never have the chance to say after tonight’s episode.’

‘No, Jericho,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve had enough excitement for one night. And I’ve decided, I’m leaving here in the morning.’

‘Leaving? Where will you go?’

She shrugged, aware that for such a big solid man he seemed emotionally tormented, childishly unstable. ‘I don’t know yet. I can read and write a bit now. I might try my luck applying for a position in service in Dudley somewhere. I’d make a good maid, I reckon.’

‘Aye, you would at that. But I want to look after you, Poppy.’ He scratched his head under his hat. ‘I had such grand plans for me and you, if I’d won you in that lottery.’

She smiled sympathetically. ‘It wouldn’t have worked, Jericho. I have my own dreams …’

‘Here …’ He felt in his pocket and pulled out a handful of sovereigns that glinted in the half-light. ‘Have this money. It’s what I took off Tweedle. Keep it … or give it your mother.’

Poppy shook her head. ‘No, give it back to the men who paid Tweedle. Give it to Dog Meat, if you like – you cheated him out of money, by all accounts …’

‘Dog Meat? You heard about that?’

‘Yes, I heard.’

‘Is that why you won’t come with me now? Because of me and Minnie?’

She giggled at the thought. ‘No. It’s got nothing to do with that. I’ve told you why.’

‘I should’ve known from the first time that I’d never do any good with you, Poppy. You only ever turn me down.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No more than I am.’ He took a step backwards. ‘I’ll leave you in peace then. I might never see you again. I wish you health and happiness.’

‘Thank you, Jericho. I wish you the same.’

He turned and went.

Jericho went straight to Minnie. She was gossiping with the women about what had happened that night and speculating over the likely consequences. He drew her aside, at which the other women flashed knowing glances at each other.

‘Come into the tunnel with me, Minnie,’ he said in a whisper.

‘You’ve got a cheek,’ Minnie responded acidly. ‘First you give money to Dog Meat for me, and I was daft enough to believe you took me ’cause you liked me. Then you cheat on him by not paying him what you agreed. You’m a rat, Jericho.’

‘I ain’t no rat, Minnie. I really like you. I like doing it with you. I always intended to pay him, but then I thought it might put you in Queer Street with him. I was trying to protect you. He’d have known something was going on if I’d paid him money out of the blue.’

Minnie smiled too easily, forgiving him. ‘Shall I get me rug then?’

‘Yes,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll go first. I’ll make me way there now. You come as soon as you can.’

‘There’s just one thing, Jericho …’

‘What?’

‘You was prepared to pay Dog Meat to have me. Well, I resent him selling me. I work for nobody but meself. From now on, you’ll have to pay me.’

‘Pay you?’

‘If you want me, you’ll have to pay me.’

‘How much?’

‘Well … you was prepared to pay a pound a ticket for Poppy, I suppose. I reckon I must be worth ten shillings.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Jericho. ‘I’ll give you a shilling.’

She turned to go.

‘One and a tanner then?’

‘Five shillings,’ she said.

‘Two.’

‘Three.’

‘Two and a tanner.’

‘All right,’ agreed Minnie, with a sparkle in her eye. ‘Two and a tanner. But I want the money now. Afore we start.’